Were the World Mine
by mycalyx
Summary: "My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye... Were the world mine." A brilliant and defeated doctor, a young woman caged in sorrow, and a rain soaked city that witnesses the musical journey towards their destiny. AU ErikxChristine.
1. Into My Life

**AN: Taking over this prompt for a friend - reviews will definitely light the fire under my fingers to type up new chapters!**

 **Disclaimer: I now own a prompt. That's pretty much it.**

 **Beginnings**

It is a city of perpetual rain where our tale begins. The sky is more slate than azure, more prone to sorrow than sweetness. It is a large city where everyone may as well be a stranger – and where a man could easily be lost among many. It is ideal for those who don't want to be found, and painful for those yearning to be discovered.

Here is where the tale begins, and it begins with a man who is not quite a man … a man who was a match for this dreary city in every way. Once upon a time, there was a very gray man who lived in a very gray city…

 _There was a boy …_

 _A very strange, enchanted boy –_

 _They say he wandered very far … very far,_

 _Over land and sea…_

 _A little shy, and sad of eye,_

 _But very wise was he._

 _And then one day – one magic day- he passed my way!_

 _And while we spoke of many things, fools and kings,_

 _This he said to me:_

 _"The greatest thing you'll ever learn, is just to love and be loved in return!"_

* * *

"Eyes are a delicate organ, requiring extreme care before, during, and after a surgical procedure. To allow for one mistake or bit of carelessness is to invite infection and irreparable harm. Slide, please."

There was a click and the lecturer spoke clearly as he used the laser pointed to indicate areas of red swelling in a cornea. The audience murmured, and one or two were pale. The lecturer took a moment to nod at them knowingly.

"This distresses you now, I understand. But if you're considering leaving the room, don't. You must be prepared for the realities of such delicate surgery before you advance in your coursework. Emotional responses in surgery will lead to disasters _like this_." He again circled the image being projected.

"What we're seeing here is …," he spoke slowly, seemed to lose his train of thought as he peeked over the heads of the seated medical students. The light of the projector affected his own line of vision, but he'd seen it – a shadow to the left in the back.

"Dr. Khan?" One of the medical students in the front row piped up. Khan quickly cleared his throat and smiled.

"Yes, sorry. What we're seeing here is the result of an unhygienic eye wash post surgery. The film of the eye had yet to heal and was covered using sanitized wraps, save for the eye wash. Negligence was suspected and the doctor was sued for malpractice. You see what can happen. Slide, please."

The next slide was less repulsive, it was a surgeon positioning a laser machine over an awaiting patient's eye.

"A good ophthalmologist must be able to identify the need for specific procedures and be responsible not only for the surgery itself but the quality of the course of treatment. Many university programs allow patients to specify if they want to be operated upon by the consultant or the resident fellow. Put yourself in the shoes of the patient – here you have your sight, the sense you rely on the most, and it's potentially compromised. If you needed to save your eyesight, if there was even the barest chance you could lose it all in your attempt to save it, what kind of doctor would you want?"

The auditorium was silent save for the students clacking away at their computer keyboards. Khan repressed the bite in his tone and his urge to roll his eyes. "I'm actually asking you. What would you want?"

It took a moment, but the medical students slowed their typing and looked over at one another. Finally the medical student in the front row piped up.

"Well, I'd want the best," she explained. "If there's the potential for me to lose my sight, I need to go with the best doctor I can find."

Nadir Khan looked up at the shadow on the left and nodded in agreement.

"Next slide, please."

* * *

The end of lecture was a flurry of overachieving medical students wanting his card, asking questions about his specialty and hoping to network. Dr. Khan handled these with as much patience as he could muster – he had to weather it, he was already through the first part of his plan and the next part required the students' exiting the auditorium. Playing nice fit into the scheme.

Once the last student was gone and the projector turned off and the assistant dismissed, the shadow at last deigned it fit to leave its hiding place.

"You lost the room for a second there, Khan," he quipped. Nadir shrugged and neatly sorted his notes on the podium, before filing them away in his briefcase.

"Students are not my area of expertise. You know that." He looked up with a deep breath, and his dark brown eyes connected with the shadow's piercing green orbs. "Dr. Navara asked me to cover this lecture. I owed her one, otherwise she couldn't get me to step foot into a second year's lecture. I would much rather be in my office and have a patient discuss their goals for breast augmentation."

"Hm," the man replied noncommittally. He narrowed his eyes. "And _yet_ here you are. You taught the lecture and took pains to invite me to sit in. Now, why is that?" The man took a step forward, his fine leather shoes making no noise on the floor. He showed no surprise when Nadir slid a manila folder from his briefcase and held it out to him.

"No."

"Erik, just look at the –"

Khan couldn't get another word before the man, Erik, turned violently around and took two steps towards the exit. Nadir followed him and said the only word he could think of.

" **Daae!** "

That, finally, stopped him. Erik's shoulders arched up with his deep inhale. "I thought I told you that I was done. I don't think I can make it any clearer."

But his voice was smaller now. Nadir seized his chance and walked over to him quickly, holding out the folder. Erik let out a slow exhale and took the file. He examined it while Nadir nervously examined him. His green eyes were focused on the papers he shuffled through, and the white mask he wore prevented Nadir from watching for any other facial cues than the thin line of his mouth.

"When did it happen?" Erik asked, eyes still on the papers.

"She was in the car with Gus," Nadir murmured. "It's been four months."

"And she's been through a few surgeries already," Erik muttered to himself.

"Two for the right ankle – she's still in recovery for her leg – and one for her-"

"-and it failed."

Nadir was losing him, he was sure of it, and so he pressed on.

"She'll be here this afternoon if – if you want to see for yourself."

Erik's chuckle was dark and bitter chocolate. "So you haven't given up hope. Perhaps you should," he said as he closed the file. "After three surgeries on top of everything else she's had to lose, it might be best if she learned to live with it. " He added a rueful smile as he stepped away, "I wonder what's so blessedly wonderful about seeing, anyhow? It certainly never made my life any easier."

"Erik!" Nadir shouted, temper rising at last at his friend's callous language. But it was no use, Erik was already out the door, determined not to have anything to do with the patient – no matter whom she was related to.

* * *

"Why am I here today?"

In the solitary corridor, her question and Mrs. Giry's steps seemed to echo forever. The wheelchair that she was in was soundless by comparison.

"We're here so that Dr. Khan can give you a proper follow up," Mrs. Giry reminded her primly.

"But we're not on the fifth floor – isn't that where his office is?"

For a moment Mrs. Giry's steps slowed, taken off-guard by her ward's response, but she recovered quickly.

"Well, we're at the top floor today. It's a research level, but Dr. Khan did insist we go there…"

Her ward's hands, which ha been very neatly folded on her lap, slip to the armrests. "Mrs. Giry, do you think I could –"

But Mrs. Giry continued to drive the chair forward. If anything she began increasing her pace. "Nonsense, my dear. Your dear father didn't leave you in my care just to have you injure yourself further by a trip or a bad fall."

The hands gripped the rests a moment longer, than retracted back into her lap. She knew Mrs. Giry was right – it _would_ cause more hardship if she injured herself further.

"Of course, Mrs. Giry," she replied, and allowed herself to be wheeled up to the room without further questions.

* * *

Erik had not been in the hospital for some time, not since the funeral, and yet he was compelled by an unknown force to visit his office once he'd left Nadir's side. With the prowl of a cat he'd stepped into a side service elevator and pulled out his access card. He held it out to a screen and pressed his thumb underneath. A green light flashed and then the doors closed. Erik leaned against the wall and again thanked Dr. Daae for his willingness to install it just for him. He'd known better than most just why Erik had needed multiple, hidden access points to the medical buildings. It had been a hard-fought battle, but they'd compromised at last.

And now that compromise had ended. Gus would never return to the hospital. Once he packed his few treasures, neither would Erik.

The finality of it turned his thanks into ash in his mouth. Erik had always been alone. He'd preferred it. But Daae had been generous; he would not expect to meet his equal again in this lifetime.

The elevator doors gasped open and he quickly stepped out, tired of being caged in with his thoughts. He was immediately faced with a thick door and pulled out his key. It bore no special markings or plaquard marking it as his, but the room had never been assigned a number and was not in any directory in the hospital. It was a solid, dark wood door that had allowed him to shut himself away as he worked, dealing with disease but not the people it afflicted as much as possible.

 _Well,_ he chuckled, _how many of those patients would have ever trusted a doctor with a rotting face?_

Another bitter smirk made it to his features as he unlocked the door and stepped inside. It was dark, dark cherry wood was chosen for the desk and bookshelves, and two fine chairs made of black leather sat on the hardwood floor. The only sources of light in the room were a couple of lamps and a large window that was draped shut with a dark red curtain.

Turning slightly he was able to turn on the nearby lamp when something caught his eye. On the other side of the bookcase there was a door, meant to be used only if absolutely necessary – only if a patient needed to be seen by Erik. Only then would the door between his private lab and the exam room be opened.

The door was unlocked to room 900.

 _Nadir!_ He cursed inwardly. Only _he_ could have left it unlocked.

He moved closer to the door in order to lock it firmly when he heard the door to room 900 open. He froze.

"Here we are," a woman's voice said brightly.

He knew that voice. He'd met her once, through Dr. Daae …

"Oh, it's dark in here," She continued. "And there's no one here – no nurse or Dr. Khan. Perhaps he's in the next room …"

Erik planned to wring the good Dr. Khan's neck for this. With another sharp mental curse he did the only thing he could think of – he dove, quickly, behind the curtain just as he heard her approach.

He could hear her look around the room and he held his breath. He heard her step closer to the curtain, and he hoped and held his breath as she approached.

 _Don't open the curtain, don't open the curtain…_

There was a loud peal of thunder. Like a mother cat, Giry retreated into the other room – much to Erik's relief.

"Christine, are you all right?" He heard Giry ask. And then he heard a soft voice reply.

"Yes, I'm fine, Mrs. Giry. Does it look like rain?" She asked.

"I suppose so," Giry trailed off. Erik could practically hear the frown in her voice. "This is ridiculous, I'm going to find Dr. Khan."

There was another round of thunder and then the sound of the first pelting rain.

"Will you be all right, _Cherie_? I'll be back soon."

"Yes," replied the young woman's voice, "yes, I'll be quite fine. I'm not afraid of the dark anymore."

Erik listened intently to the sound of Giry's footsteps and heard the exam room door close. Once he knew she was gone he slipped to the open door. He saw the chair, pointed towards the window. He saw a head of dark curls just above the back of the chair. She was quiet, observing the rain. And even though she had said she was not afraid, Erik could tell with a glance that it was untrue. She held her head too high and braced the armrests. At any sound of thunder she gripped them tightly. She _was_ afraid.

" _In the velvet darkness of the blackest night, burning bright …there's a guiding star,_ " her quiet voice forced attention on his ear. He listened.

She smiled as she spoke to herself, imagining light encompassing the room.

" _No matter what or who you are …,_ " she sang on. And her feet touched the floor, and she found the strength to stand from the seat of her chair. Erik watched, listening with rapt attention.

" _There's a light,_ " she trilled, " _there's a light, in the darkness of everybody's life …"_

He watched her, a hand trailing up to his thundering chest. He saw her in the dark. He saw himself there with her.

 _'Darkness must flow down the river of night's dreaming,'_ Erik could hear his song, could speak it if only he knew she would not hear. _'Flow, Morpheous, slow, let the sun and light come streaming into my life…'_

 _"There's a light –"_

 _'Into my life –"_

Her cry of surprise brought them both back into reality. Unused to standing, she had wavered and lost balance. She felt herself fall only to suddenly be braced between two arms.

Her soft hands were the first to react. He held her up and felt her hands seek and lock on to his biceps and her thanks to Mrs. Giry died in her throat. This was _not_ Mrs. Giry. Her hands, too curious for their own good, explored downwards to feel sleeves, then a cuff, then a wrist. And then, suddenly, she was quickly backed into her wheelchair.

"Are you all right?" A brusque voice intoned. A _male_ voice.

Erik had caught her to keep her from falling. But the touch had been too much and he pulled away as safely and quickly as possible. After placing her in the chair he raised his eyes and looked at her, _really looked_ , for the first time.

"Yes. Yes, thank you very much. I'm afraid I'm still healing from surgery."

She wore a simple blue skirt and a sft looking sweater, her long hair flowing free around her. Her mouth offered an embarrassed smile. But it was her eyes that caught his breath.

The milky gray irises looked at him, and past him, and into nothing.

"I'm Christine," she said, holding out her hand for his. Erik looked at it a moment, then touched his hand to hers in a soft grip.

"Erik."

* * *

Review?

Song used:

 _Nature Boy_ , performed by David Bowie

 _There's a Light_ from Rocky Horror Picture Show


	2. No One Knows

AN: Ok, I got excited (and some free time!) and I have chapter 2 ready! Please read and review!

Disclaimer: I got rhythm and little else. Certainly not the book rights to PotO.

* * *

 **Behind Green Eyes**

Erik watched her smile widen, her lips parting as her sightless eyes searched for the precise origin of his voice.

"Erik," she tasted the name. Her hand held his a moment longer in a gesture of appreciation before finally setting him free. "Thank you for your help. I didn't hear the door open and … didn't realize anyone was here."

"It was left open," he lied easily. Erik was good at thinking on his feet – a lifetime of necessity had trained him properly in that. He watched her, this girl who could not see him, with a kind of hungry and birdlike greed.

She was smiling. She did not know who he was or what he looked like. She knew a name and an action, and could not see the rest of him. And so he could observe her closely, more closely perhaps than he'd ever been able to observe another. He observed like a scientist gathering empirical evidence. The color of her complexion, the texture of her curly mane, even the haunted look of those veiled eyes – all of it was his by observation.

"What are you doing in my exam room, Erik?" Her question was laced with a little amusement and shyness in turns. "Not that I'm complaining – I'm grateful for your help just now."

 _Damn him to hell, damn him to hell…_

"I'm a … colleague of Dr. Khan's." He said at last. "I assist him with some patients when the schedule's too packed."

Christine tilted her head curiously. "And so you are…Dr. Erik?"

He gave a small grin. "I'd prefer it if you call me Erik." And, God help him, he really _would_ prefer it.

She nodded. "All right, as long as you're a doctor and you don't think surgery stiches are particularly grotesque."

He couldn't stop himself from a bark of laughter at that, though he reigned it in when he saw her jump in surprise at the sound.

"No, I've…seen a lot. Surgery stitches are nothing."

He quieted and she tilted her head up at him expectantly. He took a few steps away from her to the sage green medical counter. On top of it was a medical file – he didn't have to guess whose it was and who left it there.

Suppressing a curse he picked it up and reviewed the history of her leg surgeries. "Not too bad," he mused aloud. "Just need to wash down the site with some antiseptic and re-bandage unless there are any signs of improper healing or infection."

He spoke as a doctor – interested wholly in the work. He took from the medical cabinet a bin, solutions, gloves, swabs, gauze and new bandages and clips.

"Believe it or not, I **can** clean and bandage just as properly as Na- Dr. Khan could," Erik murmured as he came back over and knelt by her chair.

He tilted his head up and saw her smile, but also noticed a rising blush. But it was only remarkable to him – he had never caused a blush, not even one borne from innocent modesty like hers. The reason baffled him. Why would anyone be so nervous with _him_? Terrified, sure, but nervous?

Her hands fisted the material of her skirt, pushing it down. "I -," Christine faltered for a moment, "it's nasty. I'm told the surgery was tricky. There were bone fragments, and…"

"And I thought I told you I'd seen quite a lot worse in my time," Erik reminded her with some irritation. He slipped on the gloves and saw with some satisfaction that she was no longer trying to hide her ankle in her skirt.

"All right," she said in a shaky voice, and allowed him to take up her ankle. Taking great care he slipped off the slipper.

Her ankle was wrapped in a white bandage, so gently and carefully as to keep her circulation from being cut. Tugging the clips free, his hand guided the cloth free from her small foot. He was patient and surgical, and did not hurry this for fear of distressing her. Christine, for her part, only felt the cool air touch her uncovered skin and the slight embarrassment of what this man – Erik, would see.

Finally Erik pulled away the gauze and looked closely at the work done. Her skin was naturally creamy right up to the ankle. It was healing but the stitches were tight and angry and the ankle itself swollen and purple.

His gloved hand trailed only lightly against the sutures with a swab, then patted it down with antiseptic. "You shouldn't try to stand on it quite yet, Christine." He allowed a gloved finger to trail down to where a pool of the antiseptic liquid had formed.

He could feel her trembling, and saw her lips pinch together.

What was Nadir thinking?1 He was no good for this, even if Gus _was_ her father.

"I-it's going to be fine," he sounded out, hoping to sound cheerful. "We'll continue your course of antibiotics and wrap this up and you'll see – it won't even…scar." Isn't that what young women were most afraid of, scarring? Not that he could blame them, but -

"…walk."

He heard the word under her deep breathing and looked at her. She was worrying her bottom lip as if to keep from spilling the words on her tongue. Erik cleared his throat.

"I- I bet you'll be walking out of that chair soon," he amended. Why was he bothering to try to please her? When had he ever bothered with pleasantries for a patient?

 _When have I ever caught myself staring at one?_

"I don't know about that," she admitted. Erik raised his eyes, surprised by the sadness in her reply. Her milk-pale eyes had dimmed – just a little. Or was it the lighting in the room playing tricks?

His hand pressed only lightly to adjust the clips on the fresh bandage. His eyes had not wandered away from hers. As if he could not quite believe it, Erik's hand moved once, slowly, over her eyes. They did not respond.

"I _can_ feel the heat of your hand, you know," she teased, finally picking up her smile. His hand froze and he looked at it. He'd never thought of his body as particularly _warm_. She seemed to sense his embarrassment and laughed lightly.

"If you could –" Erik tried to say something, which was more than he'd given most people. But this was the daughter of a good man, one of the few he'd met, and he wanted to talk to her. He thought he might even understand her.

So why didn't the question come?

"Erik?"

His focus snapped back. He slipped the shoe back on and tidied after himself with a frenetic energy.

"You'll be scheduled for physical therapy as soon as Dr. Khan clears you, maybe in the next few weeks. The stitches will need to be out before then."

That dimness in her eyes returned and grew darker for a moment. Then she smiled brightly, very brightly.

"Thank you, Erik." She held out a hand, "it's nice to meet you."

He took her hand again. His fingertips pressed her palm with the barest pressure.

"It's nice to meet you," he echoed. And it was. It was nice to be thise close to anyone much less a girl like… her.

"Perhaps I'll see you again," she smiled at him and released his hand. "Sounds like Dr. Khan is often busy."

He thought about it. Other than lectures and work in his plastic surgery firm, Nadir was fairly free. And also, he'd left her unattended in this exam room as bait, and Erik did _not_ like falling into plans. But then there was _Christine_.

"If Dr. Khan permits," he tried not to spit the name, "I will be the attending physician for your care here, Christine.

Her smile widened brilliantly. "I will see you next week?"

"Yes."

* * *

"-pretentious, assuming, smug, vainglorious ass –"

Nadir sighed, pouring himself a cup of tea and one for his guest. Erik was fond of the particular blend, and Nadir hoped it might serve as a peace offering of sorts – whenever Erik was done with this little tirade.

"I don't know what you're grousing about," Nadir interrupted, placing Erik's cup across the desk. "You spent time with a lovely girl, one who needs your lovely skills, I might add."

His guest merely glowered where he stood. Nadir sighed and sat in his chair but did not drink his tea either. "Her ankle will heal. With care she may not even limp. But that's not her major problem."

"And you believe I can do something about that," Erik concluded for him.

"Don't you?" Nadir raised an eyebrow. "Erik, Gus hired you – you, with all of your secrets and anger – because your hands are those of God. Do you not want to repay him for that?"

"I was useful," Erik spat. "And only because patients could be knocked out before I ever showed up for surgery."

"Erik –"

"I'm a backstage player, Khan." Erik sat down at last. "If I was kept out of site, diagnoses were easy because illness doesn't care what you look like. Does it, Nadir?" A bitter chuckle escaped his lips, and he raised his keen eyes to Khan. Those angry, defeated eyes held everything he would not speak. Those eyes burned with their finality.

"Men are idiots, nadir, and I'm done with them." He shook his head. "All I want is to leave this behind. Gustave is dead, and I've no more reason to continue here. I'm going to go somewhere – anywhere – and I'll simply live there until I'm done with living. The end."

Nadir took a few deep breaths and waited until Erik at last took a sip of the tea.

"I saw Christine," Nadir spoke up, "after you left."

"You were in the hallway all along?" Erik growled.

Nadir ignored the question. "She asked if you could be her primary doctor from now on. It seems you made a good impression on her, Dr. Destler."

Erik remained silent, but the suppressed twitch of his mouth betrayed him. There hadn't been any false words between them – she _did_ want to talk again.

"You're being cruel, Nadir," he replied at last. There was little bite to his statement. It was true and they were both aware of it.

"I have to be kind to Christine – it's what's owed to Gustave," Nadir replied quietly. At that Erik's eyes raised to meet his.

"And what is owed to me?" He wondered quietly. He looked down into his cup.

" _No one knows what it's like to be the bad man,_ " Erik's voice was quiet, withdrawn and hurt.

"Erik –"

" _To be the sad manbehind green eyes,_ " his voice echoed as he carried on, trapping Nadir with the very sound. Erik set down the cup at once and stood to look at Nadir. " _And no one knows what it's like to be hated, to be fated to telling only lies!"_

He softened a moment and thought about her hand in hers. The dimness in her blinded eyes. The ache he recalled.

" _But my dreams, they aren't as empty as my conscience seems to be._ " Who was he trying to reassure? Himself? The man who put him in this position?

"What **are** your dreams, Erik?" Nadir asked. "Not this escape you have planned for yourself – your real dreams." And he did want to know.

Erik shot away and towards the wide open window of Nadir's office. He pressed his palms to the cool glass pane and looked below.

It was her – Christine was being wheeled towards a black car by Mrs. Giry. The rain had let up and he could see her.

" _No one knows what it's like to feel these feelings, like I do…_ " Erik gripped his heart through his shirt before slamming that hand angrily on the pane. " _And I blame you!_ " Everyone – God, Nadir, Gustave – they were all behind the echo of his agony. " _And no one bites back as hard on their anger, none of my pain – no, it can't show through…_ "

Nadir stepped behind him and held his eye through the window's reflection. " _But your dreams, they aren't as empty as your conscience seems to be…_ "

They both looked at each other quietly, and this time it was Erik who looked away first.

"I have hours, only lonely," he murmured. His shoulders dropped. "I'll keep any appointments she makes. I do owe Gus that much. But don't ask any more of me."

Nadir nodded. It was a start.

* * *

 **Reviews bring 'round the muse, y'all.**


	3. How Is It You Sing?

**AN: A shorter chapter, but more information given on who Christine is, and how she affects Erik.**

 **Review? Please?**

* * *

Her hands were learning to see. It had been Mrs. Giry's idea to try her hand at cross-stitching on a prepped cloth over a stretched hoop. The different colored threads were differently textured to make it easier for Christine to pick out the ones she wanted, and the pattern on the cloth was marked with a combination of small pins and colored thread. Currently her right hand held what she prayed was a deep blue thread on a needle and her left hand held the cloth as a guide.

She'd never been particularly crafty, having once in fact hot-glued a science project to her carpet as a teen, but since the … since her accident, she was desperate for something to do. And so Mrs. Giry prepped the fabric and let her loose upon it. Currently she was working on the wing of a blue jay.

It was a mild enough day, she thought – she could feel some warmth from where she sat on her French sill. The window was open, and even though she couldn't feel much sunshine on her face, it didn't _seem_ like there'd be rain. She could even hear the twitter of birds. As she worked, she could hear one growing bold and hopping to the closer branches. She paused her work and heard the little bird warble, and smiled as she let out a sweet little hum of her own.

It took all of her control not to laugh delightedly when she heard the bird reply shortly thereafter. She trilled back quietly and heard an inquisitive chirp back, and opened her voice to sing –

"Christine!" Mrs. Giry's surprised voice sent a stern message to the birds, and she quickly heard the dear little things scatter into the tree and sky beyond it. She heard Mrs. Giry rush in and promptly close and lock the window.

"My dear, that's dangerous," she admonished. "You're so close to the open window, you don't know how easy it would be for you to fall out."

Christine felt Mrs. Giry's arms on her shoulders, squeezing firmly, and she wanted to interrupt.

"Mrs. Giry, I was being careful-"

"You cannot _see_ , Christine," she scolded with more bite. "What would your father say if I let you get injured in my own home?"

Her heart sank like lead and her eyes stung. "You're right, Mrs. Giry," she conceded. "I don't…didn't think it through is all."

Christine placed a hand on the older woman's and squeezed. "I didn't mean to worry you, I just wanted some fresh air."

Mrs. Giry squeezed her shoulders once more and let go, batting her own eyelids to fight back the tears in her own eyes. "I understand. I'll turn on the air conditioning and you'll have your fresh air, hmm?"

Mrs. Giry planted a kiss on her forehead and left the room, leaving Christine alone with her needlework. Soon enough she heard the hum of the central air and the blow of icy air on her arms and face.

Absently she touched the bird wing on her fabric.

" _Green finch and linnet bird, nightingale, black bird – how is it you sing?_ " Her head tilted back to the window and the wild birds and sky beyond. " _How can you jubilate, sitting in cages, never taking wing?_ "

She stood up and set down the needlework, touching her hands to the glass window. " _Outside the sky waits, beckoning, beckoning, just beyond the bars. How can you remain, staring at the rain, maddened by the stars? How is it you sing? Anything? How is it you sing?_ "

Her hands trailed away from the window to the walls of her room. Beautifully kept, a shade of dark blue, she'd been told.

" _My cage has many rooms, damask and dark, nothing here sings – not even my lark. Larks never will, you know, when they're captive…,"_ Christine sang. And she was a trapped lark, feeling her very fine room close in on her.

She felt the knob of the door at last, and pressed her head against the frame.

" _Teach me to be more adaptive,_ " she murmured.

* * *

It was a painful six days. It should not have been a painful six days.

Erik had returned from the hospital to his home. It was a short drive to the outskirts of the city, past a modest preserve full of redwoods and moss until he finally turned on a dirt road without any sort of obvious street marker. If someone followed the dirt road all the way up they'd be right at the front door of his comfortable home abutting the preserve.

He liked the cabin, it was far enough from the hiking and riding trails that he had no visitors – and the area so remote from the city that it didn't appeal to many to live there. He parked his black car in front and headed in. The first sight that greeted him was his piano and the sheet music strewn all over it and his coffee table. Music had been how he'd passed the time after the news about Gus had reached him. He'd written darkness and grief for weeks on end, one after the other. He put his keys down and set himself down on the bench, ready to spend the next few days returning to that morose sound.

It didn't come.

He didn't understand it – his soul smoldered and raged, his grief was fresh and multiplying, and yet the pained sound would not come.

Instead he found himself putting her words to music.

' _There's a light…_ '

He could hear her still, he played her melody and sang as she had, and he could not understand why. This compulsion, further, was a pale substitute to his desire to see her. He _wanted_ to see her. It agonized him.

He spent that first day setting her words to music.

He spent the second day playing notes and recalling every thing he'd said.

The third and fourth days he sang her song, trying to recapture the purity of that moment. It was a fool's errand but that knowledge did not deter him.

On the fifth day he read her file over and over again, until he could quote from it. He _did_ quote from it.

Daae, Christine Marie. 20 years old, blood type O-neg. 5'6", hair brown, eyes brown.

On the sixth day he argued with himself furiously and cursed Nadir. He told himself he would not go to the hospital the next day. He would not. He was **done** , goddamnit, and he did not owe anyone a thing. Not a damned thing!

And yet he'd circled Friday on his calendar all the same.

* * *

Review, pretty please?

Song used:

 _Green Finch, Linnet Bird_ from Sweeney Todd


	4. Were the World Mine

**AN:** **I have one more chapter to update as I will be going away for a long weekend (whee!)**

 **Like what you've read? Please consider leaving a review. I am a poor student and reviews are awesome to motivate me to write in my free time.**

* * *

It was Friday again, and he was again waiting in room 900. Erik leaned against the medical counter, fiddling with the white coat and the key card clipped onto it. Christine's medical file rested just on the counter and he knew she was on her way up. It left him enough time to second guess what he was even doing here, waiting for the daughter of a man who was decent and now wasn't anything at all.

He owed her, didn't he? That's all this was, really.

Then why had he played her song? Why had his mind wandered again and again to their meeting?

The door to the exam room clicked open, and his body snapped up to attention. The wheels of her chair pushed into the room.

"Hello again!" Her voice was cheerful, infecting him with her enthusiasm.

"Hell-" His greeting fell short as the person who pushed her wheelchair came into view. He was tall, sandy haired, with wide blue eyes that did nothing to hide his surprise or slight fear.

The mask.

Erik recovered himself and looked away, picking up her file quickly and leafing through it.

"I'm glad you made your appointment, Ms. Daae." His voice was neutral.

Christine seemed not to pick up the change in his attitude. Her smile remained in place.

"Yes, I was lucky Raoul was available to give me a lift," she replied. Erik risked a glimpse and saw the man was still gawking at him, hands on the handles of Christine's chair.

Christine raised a hand to point to the man. "This is my boyfriend, Raoul. Raoul, this is Erik." Her smile widened expectantly.

"And you're sure he's a doctor?"

Erik's right hand curled tightly into a fist but Christine beat him to it.

"Raoul!" Her tone was surprised, scolding. "That's incredibly rude!"

Her head tilted towards the direction of Erik's voice. "I'm so –"

"He's wearing a mask, Chris! What the hell is that?!" Raoul pressed on.

"Raoul!" She tried to silence him. Erik thought of a few other ways to achieve that.

"My name is Dr. Erik Destler," his voice dripped acidly, "surgeon." And with a gentility that belied his rage and humiliation he smiled coldly.

Christine's face was crimson in embarrassment and Raoul remained wary of the masked man. It was fairly clear to Erik what the boy thought of him.

"Raoul, it's time for my appointment. You can wait in the downstairs lobby."

Raoul glanced down at her. "I can stay."

"I'm _fine,_ " she insisted.

Raoul bent down close to her ear. Fool boy didn't realize he could hear the words he hissed to Christine.

 _"You can't even see him. He's got his whole face covered."_

To Christine's credit she gave her head a sharp shake away from him. "We'll talk later," she replied angrily. "Go, Raoul."

It looked like the boy was going to argue further, but Erik was at his breaking point. With quick strides he went over and held the door open.

"A pleasure to meet you," he ground out. "I'll make sure Ms. Daae is ready to go in an hour."

Raoul shot him a narrowed glance but had to concede defeat. He bent over and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I'll be waiting, angel."

Christine gave a small head nod, gentler now, and with another glance to the masked man Raoul grudgingly walked out of the room. As soon as the door was closed she turned to him, her hands swiveling the wheels of her chair.

"I'm sorry – I'm very sorry. He's very nice but since …," she raised her hand to her eyes and then drifted off.

Erik quietly picked out the necessary equipment from the cupboards, trying to think of what to say that could soothe the sting of humiliation and … and _disappointment_ in his heart.

"They protect you," he said at last. "Mrs. Giry and … the boy."

Her smile curved the right way and yet didn't quite seem to be a smile. "They want to keep me safe," she agreed. The way she said it, however, echoed achingly within him.

He knelt in front of her, basin full of supplies at his side, and noticed she held a little red book in her lap. The cover was raised in bumps. Braille.

"You're not even asking about it." He knew she was aware of what he was talking about.

The mask.

"I thought you might be wearing something," she admitted. "Your-your voice sounds a little muffled, sometimes."

He looked at her curiously. She was clever; of course she'd picked that up. So why hadn't she said anything?

Her hands traced themselves on her lap. "I know what it's like to look a little different," she said with a smile. "And I don't like being stared at. I can feel it, when it happens."

Her milky eyes. The wheelchair. She thought that he was a _little_ different. If only she knew…

"I don't like being stared at, either," Erik admitted. He sorted out the medical supplies and dumped a medical wash into the basin. He saw she had left her foot free of slippers, and the bandage looked well-secured in place.

He unraveled the bandage. "We're going to give the area a thorough washing today and check the progress," he explained as he went along.

"I **am** sorry," Christine repeated. "I really didn't mean for that to happen. And I know that … that your reasons for the mask are your own."

Erik gently laid her foot in the basin and opened a packaged sponge to dip it into the water.

"You're not the one who was rude. You don't have anything to apologize for." He sighed, then looked up at the girl. Today she wore a dress of sea-foam green, bringing out the copper in her hair.

"Are **you** angry about it?"

Christine started and for a moment Erik had to adjust his hold on her ankle.

"W-what?"

Erik soaked the sponge in the wash and squeezed it over her ankle. He gently brushed the sponge over it with great care. "What are you feeling … really?"

Christine frowned. "I'm fine. I am."

The only sound in the room following that statement was the gentle lapping of the liquid in the basin and Erik's sponge on her skin. She worried her lip and he kept his eyes on the ankle he was working on.

"Have you ever felt ... different?"

Her question stilled his hands in the wash. Erik looked up at her to see her looking back down at him.

"Often."

He took a small, fluffy towel and gently dried the site of the surgery before grabbing the fresh bandages. He bent his head and focused on the work of wrapping the injury and tried to ignore the unsettled quiet around them.

He heard her run her hand over the cover of that red book.

"What's that?" Erik asked, hoping for a change in topic. The hand stilled.

"It's _A Midsummer Night's Dream_." Christine opened the book and Erik clipped the bandage neatly before bringing his eyes up. The pages were crisp and white, littered with braille – raised bumps and patterns he didn't recognize.

He picked up the basin and tossed the opened packages in, tidying up. "A fan of Shakespeare, are you?" He stood up and moved the things back to the counter.

Christine laughed with some deprecation. "I'm trying to be. I was focused on performing arts in college, and now that I can read braille I was hoping to keep working on my Shakespeare."

Erik nodded and threw away a few of the used packages and his latex gloves. "I always found him lyrical. Songlike."

Christine turned her wheels to face him, a grin on her face that lit up her features. "You know the play?"

Erik looked at her, then at the door her beau had exited. That boy. _Raoul_.

" _I see their knavery_ ," he sang quietly, " _this is to make an ass of me – to fright me, if they could._ "

 **' _He's wearing a mask, Chris! What the hell is that?!'_**

His lip curled at the distrust he found in that statement.

 _"But I will not stir from this place, do what they can – I will work up and down here,_ " his voice gained dignity and anger and rose in strength. " _And I will sing that they shall hear that I am not – I am not afraid. I am not … afraid._ "

 ** _I am_ _not_ _afraid of that boy_**. But, oh, how sick he was of being judged the same way by nearly every person he met!

" _I know not by what power I'm made bold, but still you flout my insufficiency – the more my power the lesser is my grace!"_

And then there was Christine, who heard him with rapt attention and delight. He looked at her – she, who looked at him like he was anybody else.

" _My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye. My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody,"_ Erik almost touched his lips with two fingers and then pressed them with longing to her, " _my tongue your tongue – were the world mine._ "

Couldn't he do it? Restore her sight? Couldn't he _try_?

And he could see it, see her under the care of nurses as he prepared for surgery. He could see its success, he could see the bandages being cut away from her eager face and then – and then she'd see _him_. And he'd see that look of disgust. He'd see her run away.

" _O, why rebuke you him that loves you so?_ " He sang bitterly. " _Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe – on your bitter foe!_ "

Her voice murmured and cut through his tortured vision. Erik turned to see her hold out her hand.

" _What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?_

 _I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again –_

 _Mine ear is much enamored of thy note …_

 _I'll follow thee, I'll follow thee –_

 _And make a heaven of hell."_

Erik moved to her and then placed one hand in hers.

" _I'll follow thee, I'll follow thee-"_

Erik joined her, kneeling in front of her chair.

 _"And make a heaven of hell … And make a heaven of hell!_ " Their voices crashed into a crescendo, followed by a silence of infinite closeness.

Christine's free hand reached out, slowly. Erik had plenty of time to stop her, to take that questing hand and move it back to her lap. Instead he took it in his free hand and guided it to his mask. He felt the pressure of her hand, the heat of it warming his mask where her fingers explored.

" _My eye should catch your voice_ ," Christine sang.

 _"My eye should catch your eye,_ " Erik repeated.

" _My tongue your tongue – were the world … mine._ "

* * *

 **Hope you liked it!** Happy weekend, y'all!

Song used: 'Were the World Mine' watch?v=CwgOiX48BJs


	5. I Am Here

**AN: I had a great weekend and had a lot of thoughts about how this chapter should play out - read'n review and let me know what you think!**

 **Disclaimer: Again, I barely own my laptop, let alone book rights.**

* * *

The car ride to Mrs. Giry's home was filled with a thick silence. Raoul had been downstairs in the lobby, pacing, and as soon as the elevator doors opened he grabbed the handles of her chair and breezed out of there without pause. Christine had buckled herself into the car as he put away her chair, and he then he put the car into drive and they were off.

As he drove he kept glancing over to her but her head was turned out as if to peer out the window. He could see her face reflected against the dark of the night and the city lights. Her mouth was bent at a sad angle.

"He was wearing a mask," Raoul sighed at last. They may as well deal with the masked elephant in the room. "Who does that?"

Christine's back straightened in the seat. "He has his reasons," she said at last. "That doesn't excuse being rude about it. He's wearing a mask, it's not like he was holding a bloody hatchet and wearing a hockey mask!"

Raoul scoffed and shook his head. "Did you know the receptionist downstairs didn't have any records on him? I checked, Chris, and she didn't know who I was talking about."

Christine didn't even flinch at that. "Oh, so you're surprised other people haven't met him? You, who wouldn't stop gawking or trying to convince me to run away?"

Raoul smacked the steering wheel with his free hand. "Damnit, listen to me on this one, Chris! You don't know why he's wearing that thing and-and I don't like the way he looked at you!"

"I don't have to know what he looks like," she replied hotly. "And my father trusted him enough to work with him, so why shouldn't I?"

"Because you can't _see_ him!" He ground out. Christine went deathly still and Raoul, realizing his mistake, sighed and tried to continue with a gentler tone. "You're still adjusting to- to being blind, to everything that happened after the accident. You're vulnerable and this guy knows it-"

"-and when did losing my eyesight become losing my right to make my own decisions?"

Her voice was quiet and hard in a way that he had never heard it. He pulled the car into Mrs. Giry's driveway and turned off the engine. Christine was already unbuckling her seatbelt. Raoul put a hand on hers.

"Christine, I didn't mean it like that. I just – I don't want to see you hurt again. I'm here, with you, to guard you and to guide you."

Christine took a deep breath, then unlocked the car door. "Did you ever consider that that's not what _I_ want?"

The moment was ended when the porch light came on and Mrs. Giry came out of the house and hurried to the driveway to meet them. Raoul popped the trunk and helped Mrs. Giry get the chair out while Christine carefully helped herself out of the passenger's side door.

"My dear girl, it's going to rain again soon," Mrs. Giry fretted. "Let's get you inside and settled with a hot cup of cocoa, yes?"

She looked up at Raoul with a smile. "Will you be joining us?"

Raoul shut the car door and leaned on it, smiling apologetically at the older woman. "I'm afraid I have an econ exam to study for. But I'll take a rain check."

Mrs. Giry nodded. "I'll hold you to it."

Christine said nothing during the exchange, but Raoul could tell she was still upset. He stifled his own anger and bent down to her ear.

"I'm sorry, Chris. I am." And he pressed a kiss to her cheek. She tilted up, considering his words, and nodded.

"Will you call me tomorrow?"

Raoul nodded, then remembered. "Yes, of course, I'll call once I'm done with classes."

She gave him a little smile, and then she and her guardian were heading inside. Raoul watched them a moment, a gnawing in his soul.

" _I don't know your face no more,_ " he watched them as they closed the door. " _Or feel the touch that I adore._ "

Raoul walked towards the car, biting back a frustrated scream. " _I don't know your face no more …. It's just a place I'm looking for._ "

He unlocked the car and buckled up, starting the car again. But instead of driving off, he slouched forward on the steering wheel, staring at the house where Christine now lived.

" _We might as well be strangers in another town. We might as well be living in a different world …. We might as well, we might as well …_ "

Unwilling to finish that thought, he put the car in reverse and then took off. Maybe he was just tired.

* * *

Nadir wasn't surprised to see Erik hadn't gone home yet. The man used his private lab space and office like a sanctuary, and had even spent nights in there when work had consumed him. But the sight before him made him light with hope, and he approached with care as though approaching a wild creature he did not want to frighten.

Erik was at his desk, Christine's head scans lit up on the wall, and medical journals covering his desk. He was currently pouring over one text carefully, mouth fixed with purpose.

"You're still here," Nadir went with the least-charged words he could, licking his lips. "It's nearly midnight, you know."

Erik didn't halt his work but gave a hasty nod. Nadir considered this a good sign – he normally didn't like to be interrupted once he was intrigued by a puzzle. If Christine was the puzzle, he'd be more than happy to make sure the rest of the world didn't take any of Erik's attention.

"I'll just…confirm Christine's appointment for next week, shall I?" Nadir offered quietly. At that Erik's eyes did come unglued from the page to shoot up at him. Nadir felt a moment of panic, hoping that he'd not presumed too much, but Erik just nodded his head again.

"Yes, that's…she'll be ready to have the stitches out by then."

Nadir knew what that meant – she'd be moved on to physical therapy and recovery. Did that mean Erik would no longer see the girl? Then why was he looking at her head scans?

"Good night, Nadir." Erik waved him off, and Nadr was sure Erik already knew what was on his mind. But tonight was encouraging, at least Erik was intrigued by Christine's case. Hope was blossoming against the odds.

"Good night, Erik."

* * *

It was early yet, not even the sun had risen but the rain splashed heavy on the rooftop. Christine sat on her sill and heard the drops hit her closed window, leaning against it to feel the gentle tremble of the pane. It was cool against the heat of her cheek.

She hadn't slept particularly well, thinking too much about some things and too little about others. Her soul was stirred – stirred to frustration, stirred to wanting, stirred to everything but sleep.

Unbeknownst to her, Erik was also restless and unrested. Escaping the heft of his work at last he sat on the hood of his car, his back to the windshield, and watched the dark sky as it pelted his with rain. He could barely feel the cold seep into his suit and trickle through his dark hair and down his mask.

He felt her hand in his again. Gentle, trusting, seeking …

He wanted to see her again.

 _"You shine like the moon over water, and you darken the sky when you leave._ " He looked down at his hand, flexing the muscles as if he could hold her hand again. " _Now I want to know how to keep you. Return to me._ "

Was he losing his mind? Why was he looking at the journals, looking at those scans? Why had he let her touch his mask? And why was all of this happening _now_? Why now?

And even though those questions had no obvious answers, they did nothing to quell what was happening to him.

" _Everything I tell you has been spoken, and everything I say was said before. But everything I feel is for the first time – and everything I feel, I feel for you._ " And he laughed breathlessly and raised his face to the rain.

" _I am here, calling the wind. I am here – calling your name. I am here calling you back. Return to me._ "

...

And as Christine sat in her sill she found her hand reaching up to the window latch. She flicked it open and was rewarded with a gust of wet air – refreshing and mossy and _real_ in a way the air in this house was not.

She sat up and gripped the frame; she scooted and put one leg out, then the other, until she was sitting comfortably out on her window. The rain streaked down her legs and the wind played with her hair, and a thrill of actual joy struck her heart like lightning.

She wished she could talk to Erik about this feeling.

" _I am here calling the wind – I am here, calling your name. I am here, calling you back … return to me."_

* * *

Please review? Please?

Songs Used:

'We Might as Well be Strangers' by Keane

'Return to Me' by October Project


	6. Forget Me Not

**AN: I'm going to try to update as often as I can, but summer session has started and it is HECTIC. Reviews do help me move the pen along, though *hint***

* * *

Raoul was true to his word, calling her right after classes had ended for the day. Christine was reading her copy of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ , her fingers lingering over certain passages over again as the phone rang.

 _'My ear should catch your voice, my eye should catch your eye. My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody – were the world mine.'_

"Christine," Mrs. Giry's heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she entered her bedroom. "My dear, it's Raoul." The woman put a hand on Christine's shoulder and she reached up a hand for Mrs. Giry to deposit the cordless phone into.

"Thanks, Mrs. Giry." Christine marked her page before bringing the phone up to her ear. "Hi, Raoul."

"Hey beautiful," his voice was cheery over the phone, easy in a way it hadn't been yesterday.

"Exam go well?" Christine asked. Mrs. Giry was still in the room, she noticed. She had not heard her heels clicking away.

"Well enough, I think. But I've been too focused on that today – let's just put it aside." He was smiling on the other end of the line, she could hear it in his voice. But why? Last night had been…was _still_ tense.

"I was wondering if you might want to go out to dinner tonight. Maybe to _Gino's_?"

Christine hadn't been there with Raoul for some time. It had been their spot before … well, before everything happened. It was upscale, posh in a way that had impressed her before.

"I… _Gino's_ is kind of fancy, isn't it? Are we celebrating something?"

" _Say yes,_ " Mrs. Giry whispered to her, amusement in her tone. Christine stifled a frown.

"I just finished a major exam, Chris, I think I deserve to take my best girl out for a nice dinner. Don't you?" He sighed. "And I know I was … difficult last night. I'd like to make it up to you."

Something soured on her tongue and she swallowed heavily for a moment. What was wrong with her? Hadn't she loved going to _Gino's_ before? Getting dressed up and going with Raoul?

"Sure," she agreed at last. "What time do you want to pick me up?"

* * *

"With this degree of scarring, the patient doesn't have great odds of getting sight back," Dr. Shishida's voice wafted from the intercom.

Erik sat at his desk and poured over the latest article he'd sent over to Shishida. The man was a brilliant transplant specialist. And the biggest pessimist Erik had yet to meet.

"Fermin's work on full corneal transplant looks promising, though-"

"The test subjects are recent. Five years is insufficient time to verify the lasting effects of his technique," Shishida replied calmly. "I agree it is attractive but there's no guarantee. And … I am sorry, my friend, but corneal transplants are hard to come by. It's delicate."

Erik rubbed his brow and leaned back on his chair. "Difficult, not impossible. Let **me** worry about that. I just need to know what the chances are of this working? And lasting?"

Erik ignored the impatient sigh on the other end of the line. He was paying the consultation fees for this little talk, and so Shishida would bear whatever questions he had.

"There are some other findings I can send you," he replied at last. "Fermin's isn't the only work I would want to consider since it's so new. But it could be possible. I'd have to evaluate the current condition of the patient's eyes. Perhaps a new head scan to make sure nothing was missed or has changed."

Erik nodded. "I'll get them to you in a week."

"Very good. Good night, Destler."

"Good night, sensei." Erik hung up the phone and immediately dialed Nadir. The old man did not seem terribly impressed.

"Do you know what time it is?!"

"I think it's just past 4."

"Four. In the morning, Erik, in the morning. That's perhaps the most important part right now."

"Japan is sixteen hours ahead."

Nadir's line went quiet, his confusion palpable. "Why does that –"

"Do you think you could have Christine do a full exam again? For her eyes?" Erik hastily pushed through with the question, leaning forward in his chair. "Would she be willing?"

"That depends. Are you going to help her get her eyesight back, or is this some professional curiosity you're sorting out?"

Erik's eyes went skyward and he breathed deeply. "I don't know if she even _can_ get her eyesight back. But, if that's an option, I want her to have it."

"Erik-"

"Would she go through with the tests again?"

Nadir paused again. He sighed, and Erik could hear him tap his chin with his fingers from the other side of the line.

"Yes. If _you_ talk to her."

* * *

Christine was just finished slipping on a rose-colored dress and sweeping her hair into an elegant knot at one side of her neck when the phone again rang. She looked up from her seat on her vanity when she heard the door open.

"Phone for you, Christine. An … Erik?" Mrs. Giry elongated the name, lilting it questioningly. Christine fastened her hair with a clip and held out her hand for the phone.

"Thank you, Mrs. Giry," she replied. She did not explain who Erik was, nor did she bring the phone to her ear until she heard the click of Mrs. Giry's heels exiting the room at last.

"Christine?" Erik's voice was small and vague from where the receiver was, and Christine brought it up to her ear.

"Erik?" Christine's free hand played nervously with the silk rose sewn into her dress. "Is everything ok?"

She heard him sigh. Even that was musical.

"Yes, it's all…everything is fine. I just had a request – one I don't know how you'll react to."

Christine swallowed, something bursting in her like champagne bubbles. "You can ask me anything, Erik."

Had he just taken a sharp breath? She wasn't sure. "Erik?"

"I'm a surgeon," he said quickly. "I think I might have mentioned that."

"You have," Christine agreed.

"And my experience lies in surgical diagnostics in particular. Diagnostics which …. could help you."

She knew suddenly what he was talking about. She knew _exactly_ what he was talking about.

"You want me to consider another surgery."

She could hear Erik sigh. "No," he said after a long while. "I want you to consider what _you_ want. Whether you want to risk disappointment by running through diagnostics, possibly even surgery again. It is your choice."

Christine raised her head, batting away the wetness in her eyes. She was sure he could hear her ragged breathing as she tried to compose herself.

"Christine? What is it you want?"

And she _did_ know what she wanted. And she was glad someone finally asked.

" _I want to see_."

Erik exhaled deeply. "Will you come to the hospital? I can run a first level of diagnostics, and I'd like to share them with a colleague that specializes in vision and neurology."

Immediately she thought to say yes, then touched the rose on her dress. Raoul.

"Does it have to be tonight?"

"Well, I'd like to get the results to my colleague for review as soon as possible, and the lab will take a day or two to finish. Is that a problem?"

 _I'm sorry, Raoul._

"Yes, I can make it. I can be there in an hour."

* * *

To say that Mrs. Giry was puzzled would be an understatement. Christine sat in the passenger side of her car, her good leg bouncing a little with anxiousness to arrive at their destination. Another trip to the hospital.

"I don't see why the appointment had to be today," Mrs. Giry mused aloud. "You've just been there for a check up yesterday."

Christine simply shrugged. Mrs. Giry frowned at that. It seemed Christine wasn't willing to discuss her treatment plans or her mysterious doctor – this _Erik_ man.

"I'm just saying that you don't see very much of Raoul lately, since the – well, since you took a break from college. He's a good one."

She saw Christine shrink a little into her seat, and sighed audibly. "Honestly, why cancel your date tonight? It sounded like he was very disappointed–"

"I want to focus on my health right now," Christine clarified quickly. "I know you both have been really busy helping me since the accident, and I really want to get better."

Mrs. Giry's mouth softened. " _Ma Cherie_ , you don't have to worry about us. I know I speak for Raoul too when I say that we will always be there to protect you. We know how much the accident has taken from you, but we will not abandon you merely because things have changed for you."

Christine pressed her forehead to the glass and said no more.

When they at last arrived at the hospital and Christine was settled into her wheelchair, Mrs. Giry wheeled her in with her usual quick step. They got to the elevator and headed to the top floor.

Mrs. Giry was still thinking about Christine's decision not to see Raoul tonight when the exam room door opened and her blood went ice cold in her veins.

The masked doctor standing in front of them was not a stranger.

Christine smiled widely and waved a hand to Mrs. Giry. "Erik, this is my guardian Mrs. Giry. Mrs. Giry, this is Dr. Erik Destler."

She remembered enough of her manners as she stared coldly at the man to nod once and murmur a quick hello. He also inclined his head and greeted her, though in a much more civil manner.

And then Christine was with him, and she found herself in the hospital chapel alone. She struck a light and lit a candle before the vesper. She blew out the match and set the candle down with more force than she intended.

It was _him_. She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to bleed it. Destler was Christine's new doctor.

And the man who had taken her son away.

She stood before the lit candle and the stained glass image of Saint Frances de Chantal – the patron saint of the forgotten. In her eyes was mercy and remembrance. Giry had never wanted to smash a glass more. She turned her back to it.

 _"Cover the mirror, hide in your dreams,_ " she chanted with a shaking head. " _Forget what they told you – forget what it means!"_ She stepped away quickly from the stained glass, away from all the stained glass images that seemed to be looking at her now.

" _A picture worth a thousand lies – the memory and the mirror- nothing but what came before … nothing but a closing door_."

She had tried to forget. She _wanted_ to forget that she had ever even had a child. Why _now_ was this returning to visit her?

Mrs. Giry sat shakily, angrily, hands clasped in prayer. _"Bury, my lovely – hide in your room. Bury, my lovely, and forget me soon._ " Her head tilted up in anguish. " _Forget me, forget me now…_ "

He was with Christine. The thought struck her with hot anger. No, she thought angrily, I will not let you turn her from me.

 _"Forget me not …"_

* * *

 _Want to know what's in store? Leave a review!_

 _Songs used:_

 _Bury My Lovely by October Project_


	7. We Still Have Time

**AN: I managed one more chapter before the weekend! Please review!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing and in fact owe school a paper ...**

* * *

It took a little effort, but Christine and Erik were comfortably settled in the best neural exam facilities in the building. Nadir had kept his word to get them the privacy Erik needed to work, and now Christine was settled in a stool as Erik placed a device to read eye movements before her.

Christine heard the machine as Erik positioned it and startled. She gripped the sides of her stool with both hands, and it caused him to still his hands. He looked up at her.

"This won't hurt you," Erik said quietly. "I promise."

Christine gave a weak smile but nothing else. He settled the machine and sighed.

"It's difficult to know when I'm hurting you … if you don't say anything."

Christine's smile slid off. She looked as fragile as a porcelain doll about to fall off a high shelf, but Erik was fairly sure that wasn't a true image at all.

"And if what I say just hurts you instead?"

It wasn't just him that she was talking about. Erik pulled out a rolling chair and settled himself in front of her, remote for the light-receptivity device in his other hand.

"And I suppose that watching you devour yourself from the inside out rather than talking about what's wrong isn't going to distress someone who l- who cares about you?" Erik glanced away quickly, turning on the light in order to check the measurements and that the test image would land squarely in the t-zone of her face once she looked up.

"I don't like these tests. I don't like being reminded of what I lost. And the –the MRI machine," it all seemed to come out at once, snowballing. "It's like being in a coffin…or in the car again."

Ah. The overturned car. Suddenly he was angry at himself, at how oblivious he'd been to the potential for distress. He swallowed thickly, eyes blinking owlishly as his mind chipped away at the problem.

"I'll be here. I'll distract you." He watched her give a small grin like he was joking. "Do you trust me? Honestly now."

And she didn't pause.

"Yes."

Erik ran over to a nearby computer and popped in a USB. The program came up and he turned up the speakers. A bit of even, soft piano came floating through.

"Just listen, then."

And he took his seat next to her.

" _I don't know you, but I want you .. all the more for that._ "

She heard his voice, this voice that seemed to resonate with words she'd kept inside and never spoke aloud, and the wonder turned her head to him.

" ** _Words fall through me, and always fool me, and I'm can't react …_** " It seemed she also knew the words he meant to say, looking back at his voice instead of the screen with an earnest expression on her features.

Gently he put two fingers to her chin, drawing her back up to the right position. He did not stop his voice.

" _And games that never amount to more than they're meant will play themselves out_ ," Erik said as he clicked the program on.

Christine's head remained in place, the device recording her eye movement or lack thereof at the light stimuli being projected. She kept herself still, but could not keep the song from her lips to join his.

 _"_ _ **Take this sinking boat and point it home – we've still got time. Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice – you'll make it now …**_ "

Erik moved on to more tests, more devices, never stopping his song even as he came to the MRI. Christine lay on her back as the machine closed, the imaging technology moving around her head. Erik did not leave her side, and even took her hand.

He looked at her, mouth a hard line.

 _'You have suffered enough, and warred with yourself – it's time that you won…_ '

"Let me give you something, while I still can, Christine."

* * *

When Mrs. Giry saw Erik return to room 900 with Christine, her mouth was a grim line. Christine looked tired but she wasn't drawn the way she had been whenever she had to sit through exams.

Quickly she pressed forward, taking up the wheelchair handles.

"Christine, _Cherie_ , will you wait outside for just a moment? I'd like to speak to the doctor."

Christine put her hand to the break of her chair and looked up. "He's my doctor, Mrs. Giry, I think I should be present –"

Erik put a hand to her shoulder, stopping her. "Actually, Mrs. Giry and I met before. I think you want to discuss that case?"

He gave her the opening but Mrs. Giry would not allow her fire to cool. "Yes, I am not asking about you, Christine. But I do have questions about a past case of Gustave's."

"Oh," Christine nodded warily. "All right, I'll just…be outside the door?" She asked, but it wasn't clear to either party who she was asking. Murmuring something about Friday to Erik, she unlocked her chair and allowed Mrs. Giry to usher her outside before closing the door.

Mrs. Giry spun on her heels to face him.

"You will tell Khan that _he_ is to supervise Christine's progress from now on."

Erik folded his arms over his chest. "And why should I do that? I'm a diagnostics surgeon, she couldn't be in better hands."

She narrowed her eyes and walked over to him. "You are an abomination."

Erik's eyes looked away, bored.

"That's beside the point. I'm a skilled doctor – the most skilled doctor Gustave ever hired, and you _know_ it. Why would you want to see Christine's care compromised, madam?"

Her bitter anger envenomed her, and her hand was as quick as a cobra when she struck him full in the face. The impact snapped Erik's head to the side, his mask clattering to the floor from it.

"You killed my _son_."

Erik felt his control slip. His long dark hair obscured his downturned face and the cold rage of his eyes as he looked at his mask.

"You never had a son, you wretched harpy of a woman," his voice was gravel, as if talking was too controlled a measure to take. And then, madness seemed to steel him. He raised his head, his horrible face slipping past the curtain of his hair. His eyes looked down defiantly at her and he watched with sick satisfaction as her anger turned to fear and revulsion.

Giry took one step back. The another. Erik stood at his full height and took one solid, oaken step towards her.

"Leave," he grit, "before I think better of it."

And he turned his back in one fluid motion, bending to pick up his mask. He heard her clacking heels scatter to the door and then she was gone from the room. The white leather in his hand, he scrutinized it until he knew his temper was at last in check.

* * *

She knew _something_ had happened in that room. Mrs. Giry practically flew her downstairs once she had left that room, and Christine could feel her speeding the car. And yet her guardian was more tight-lipped than usual. She said nothing during the drive.

It wasn't until they were home and Christine was inside the house again that Mrs. Giry seemed to realize the silence that had descended.

"I think we should have Dr. Khan resume your care," Mrs. Giry's voice had a plastic quality to it. "He's such a nice man, Christine, and he was your father's favorite colleague. Gustave wouldn't want you in anyone else's hands, don't you think?"

"No."

Mrs. Giry sighed. "I knew you'd agree. I'll just give him a call –"

" **No**." Christine's voice was strange even to her. More like stone than she was used to. "I will not change doctors."

It seemed that this surprised Mrs. Giry. She was quiet for a moment, and Christine hoped she would not continue.

"I don't think Destler is the best choice-"

"And I think he is, Mrs. Giry." Christine pressed her shoulders back to her chair and sat up. "I am injured, Mrs. Giry, but I'm still an adult and it is my right to decide who my doctor will be." And she forced herself to remain where she was, not backing down on this request even as it pained her to make Mrs. Giry unhappy.

She heard Mrs. Giry make a tight noise in her throat and toss her keys on the table.

"As you say," her voice was clipped. "I think I'm tired. I'll say goodnight now."

Christine murmured goodnight and heard Mrs. Giry's heels depart before finally shrinking into her chair and rubbing her hands over her face. She fought down the urge to apologize to her former ballet teacher. She tried to remember what Erik had said.

 _"And I suppose that watching you devour yourself from the inside out rather than talking about what's wrong isn't going to distress someone who cares about you?"_

Why had she defended him so fiercely? Dr. Khan was a good doctor, and her father _did_ trust him. So why wasn't that good enough?

She licked her lips. " _Take this sinking ship and point it home. We still have time …_ "

* * *

Reviews make my weekend happy!

Songs used:

'Falling Slowly' from Once (musical)


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